Joyce E. McLaughlin

Joyce E. McLaughlin, 90, of Palm Bay, passed away on August 6, 2026. The memorial service will be held on Saturday, August 15, 2026 at 2:30PM at Buggs Funeral Home & Crematory. 

Click HERE to View Live Webcast

Buggs Funeral Home & Crematory
2701 S. Harbor City Boulevard
Melbourne, Florida 32901
(321) 728-7076

Eulogy for Joyce Evadne McLaughlin

"Mrs. Mac!"

You can say it with me. She would love the noise.

For more than forty years, that is how I announced myself whenever I walked through her door. In the beginning, I confess, it came out quietly. Almost a whisper. "Hey, Mrs. Mac." Because in the beginning, Mrs. Mac was not entirely sure about me. And honestly, she had her reasons.

I will get to that.

But by the end, I would walk in and call out "Mrs. Mac!" at full volume, and I would be greeted with that smile. That warm, knowing smile. And a conversation would follow, every single time. It took some years to earn that smile. It was worth every one of them.

My name is Michael Marsh. I am not family by blood. I am family by stubbornness, by Sunday dinners, and by the grace of this remarkable woman and the people she raised. Her daughter Venice is married to my brother of forty-five years, Michael Yee. Their children are like my own. So when the family asked me to stand here today, I understood it as the honor of a lifetime. Because today we are not just mourning Joyce McLaughlin. We are celebrating her. And what a life there is to celebrate.

THE GIRL BY THE SEA

Let me take you back to where it all began.

Joyce E-vad-ne Martin was born on September 16, 1935, in Annotto Bay, St. Mary, Jamaica, to Bernice Coulton and Wilfred Martin. And from her earliest days, Joyce loved the sea. She would walk the shoreline collecting shells and stones. The seaside made her happy.

Hold on to that image, because we are going to come back to it.

At about nineteen, Joyce did what strong, determined young women do. She left home for Kingston to seek work and to build a life. And in Kingston, she met a man named Gerald McLaughlin. In 1961, they were married at St. Theresa's Catholic Church in Vineyard Town. Their union produced six children: Everton, Arthur, Phillip, Venice, Kenton, and Marlene. And Joyce opened her heart and her home to Gerald's two daughters, Verleta and Valrice, as well.

Her children describe her as fierce, strong, independent, wise, and incredibly protective. She saw through their efforts to outwit her. Joyce occasionally allowed shenanigans but would let her children know that she was not fooled.

Somewhere along the way, Joyce Evadne McLaughlin became known to everyone, simply and affectionately, as "Mrs. Mac."

LOVE YOU COULD TASTE

Now, if you want to understand who Mrs. Mac was, you have to understand how she loved.

Venice told me something that I have not been able to stop thinking about. She said, "Hugs may not have been given daily, but there was good food to eat. Cooking her delicious meals was her love language."

Her love language. That is exactly right. Mrs. Mac loved you in stewed peas. She loved you in escovitch fish. She loved you in rum cake. She did not just feed her own eight children in a Jamaica where times were not easy. She cooked for the neighborhood. She worked the lunch shop at St. Theresa's Prep School. To her own children she was Mom, but she was “Mom” to many others too.

And she raised her children with intention. Phillip remembers that even though the family did not have money, his mother refused to let them carry themselves that way. She would make sure they were clean, dressed in their very best, and then she would take them on day trips by bus to discover new places. A new neighborhood. A beach. A historical site. She was teaching them that the world was theirs to explore, and that they would meet it with dignity.

Venice remembers Saturday mornings at Carnation Market, where a trip for produce was really a masterclass in character. How to speak to a vendor without belittling them. How to pick the best of what was offered. How to make sure nobody took advantage of you. Respect, discernment, and backbone, all in one shopping trip.

Venice remembers trips to the real country, with kerosene lamps and an outhouse, to visit relatives. Trips to Port Royal for fried fish, bammy, coconut drops, and peanut cakes, just enjoying being by the seaside. There is that sea again.

THE POCKET

Mrs. Mac was also a gifted seamstress. She designed and made beautiful dresses for her daughters.

And this brings me to a great story from Marlene.

Marlene, by her own proud admission, was not a girly girl. Marlene was a tomboy. Shorts, T-shirt, sneakers, baseball cap. No sandals. Too girly. Her mother would sew these gorgeous dresses, and every Sunday morning was a battle to get Marlene into one. The church people would compliment the girls on their dresses, and meanwhile Marlene once got in serious trouble for climbing a tree in hers, because there was a ripe fruit up there and she was not about to let one of her brothers get to it first.

Now, Mrs. Mac could have turned this into a war of wills every Sunday morning. She had the will to win it, believe me. Instead, she studied the problem. And one Sunday, Marlene put on her church dress and discovered that her mother had sewn a pocket into it.

A pocket. Marlene said it was as if the heavens opened up and gave her what she had always wanted. The Sunday morning struggle ended. Everyone was happy.

That was Mrs. Mac. She did not bend on what mattered. Her children were going to church, and they were going looking their best. But she paid attention to who each of her children actually was, and she found a way to honor it. Firm and loving are not opposites. Joyce McLaughlin proved it with a needle and thread.

Marlene, that pocket was your mother telling you: I see you. I see exactly who you are. And who you are is fine with me.

THE SOUNDTRACK

And oh, the music. Everton, her son, and Yvette, her daughter-in-law, say their favorite memories are Sunday dinners at 18 Queen Street, hearing the music blasting while Mrs. Mac cooked. Old time reggae. Alton Ellis. Desmond Dekker. Rice and peas on the stove, pastries in the oven, Mrs. Mac singing loud, dancing in her kitchen, and yelling down to Mr. Mac.

Venice says her mother had a beautiful voice. The grandchildren remember the gospel music playing and her Bible always open on the side table. Her faith was not a Sunday accessory. It was the standing appointment of her life, right there in the living room, every day.

A NEW COUNTRY

In 1980, at forty-five years old, Mrs. Mac did something that takes more courage than most of us will ever be asked to summon. With the help of her brother Vincent, she and the family migrated to the United States. Phillip put it plainly: she was dedicated to her family and to the advancement of every one of her children, and that dedication led them to a new country for a better life.

And what did she do when she got here? She went back to school. She pursued courses in healthcare and became a nurse's assistant. And everyone will tell you the same thing: her patients loved her. Of course they did. Caring for people was not a job she learned in a course. It was who she had been her whole life. America just gave it a certificate.

Venice told me that if her mother were compared to anyone, it would be Nanny of the Maroons, one of Jamaica's national heroes. A strong woman warrior. Now, my own grandmother was a Maroon descendant, so I do not make that comparison lightly. But I knew Mrs. Mac, and I do not doubt it for a second.

HOW I EARNED MY SMILE

Now let me tell you my part of the story, because I promised I would explain why Mrs. Mac was not sure about me at first.

In the early 1980s, my brother Michael Yee started dating a young lady named Venice Mc-Laugh-lin. Now, Michael was part of a crew. Seven guys and one girl. We were inseparable. We did everything together. And I do mean everything. Including, and I am not proud of the logistics here, dates.

So picture this. You are Mrs. Mac. You are a fiercely protective Jamaican mother. Your beautiful daughter is going out for the evening. The doorbell rings. And standing on your step is not one young man. It is Michael Yee and five or six of his boys, all there to pick up your daughter for the movies.

Mrs. Mac was, let us say, appropriately skeptical.

But we kept showing up. And I made it my personal mission to break that ice. It started with a quiet "hey, Mrs. Mac." Over time it got louder. And over time, the smiles came. The conversations happened. She realized we were good souls who loved Venice like one of us. And I realized exactly where Venice got her sweetness from. Where all of Mrs. Mac’s children got their sweetness from.

Years later, after Michael and Venice married on New Year’s Eve 1987 and moved out to Medford, Long Island, a couple of the guys and I would drive out almost every Sunday, especially after Christopher was born. And before we headed out, we would stop at 18 Queen Street and pick up Mr. Mac to bring him along. Those Sundays are when my friendship with Mrs. Mac truly blossomed. I would walk in, call out "Mrs. Mac!" and get that smile every time. She was, and I say this with the deepest respect, a pretty cool lady. Sharp. Opinionated. Protective of her peace. And underneath it all, sweet to the bone.

Her grandchildren knew that woman too. Tasha Princess remembers a grandmother who was caringly stern, scolding her for sitting on the cold concrete porch, and a grandmother so resourceful that when there was no pig tail in the house, she made her stewed peas with hot dogs, and made it work, because Mrs. Mac could make anything work. And Marlon, the first grandson, told me that getting Grandma to laugh was rewarding. He is right. The warmth from her smile felt like winning something.

Christopher remembers his grandmother's love for Guinness stout, and how she would send him to the store for her six-packs when she lived with the family in New York. And he remembers summer days when she would take him and Natasha to Cracker Barrel. That was her spot.

To all the grandchildren and great grandchildren: you got the softest version of her. The rest of them had to earn it. You were born with it.

THE CIRCLE

In her final years, the caring flowed in the other direction. The children Mrs. Mac had fed, dressed, taught, and defended now surrounded her with that same devotion. Her children said that caring for their mother in those years was an honor. Think about that word. Honor. That is not a word people use about an obligation. That is a word people use about a debt of love, gladly repaid.

To her children, on behalf of everyone in this room: thank you.

She spent her whole life caring for her children, and in the end, her children cared for her. That is a circle, completed.

Phillip wrote something to his children recently that I think is really a message from Mrs. Mac to all of us. He said: continue to shower each other with the love and care that your mother and I have tried to instill in you. Make it the perfect day.

That is the assignment, everyone. That is how we honor Mrs. Mac.

BACK TO THE SEA

I told you to hold on to an image, and here it is.

A little girl in Annotto Bay, walking the shoreline, collecting shells and stones. Each one chosen with care. Each one picked up, examined, and kept because she saw something worth keeping.

Joyce E-vad-ne Mc-Laugh-lin spent ninety years doing exactly that. Gathering people. Choosing them with care. Six children and two more she claimed as her own. Grandchildren and great grandchildren. Neighbors she fed. Patients who loved her. Church family. And even a loud, persistent friend of her son-in-law who would not stop yelling her name until she smiled.

We were her collection. Every one of us in this room was picked up off that shoreline by Joyce McLaughlin and kept, because she saw something in us worth keeping.

And if you want proof that Joyce is still with us, watch Venice and Marlene at the seaside. To this day, they walk the shoreline collecting shells and stones, just as their mother did. Nobody taught them that. It was passed down, mother to daughters, heart to heart. Joyce is still walking that shoreline. She walks it in Venice and Marlene.

She is with Gerald now. And I like to think she is somewhere by the seaside, the place that always made her happy, with Alton Ellis playing, something delicious on the stove, and her family, all of us, still safe in her pocket. Because if Mrs. Mac taught us anything, it is that there is always room in the pocket for the things you love.

So before I sit down, here is what I ask of you.

If you feel you did not love her enough, love her deeper.

And if you loved her with everything you had, love deeper still.

Love each other the way she loved all of us.

She is the reason we are all here.

Her Bible was always open on the side table.

So let me close with words she would recognize.

"Her children arise and call her blessed." Proverbs 31

Mrs. Mac, we will miss you.

We will mourn you.

But we will never forget you.

We will keep your spirit alive.

We will always love you.

And may God continue to bless you and keep you.

Rest well, Mrs. Mac. Make it the perfect day.

Amen.